What the Duke Wants(38)

Charles waited till her footsteps vanished from hearing and then he closed his study door. He leaned against it, banging his head on the hard wood, praying for a punishment worse than the simple headache he’d have later.

Why did he send her off like that? All he had done was affirm that her opinion of him was correct. Hell, if he were a spectator in the tragedy that was now his life, he would have wanted to pummel himself. But no, his wicked blasted pride got in the way the moment she spoke of mistresses.

Little did she know that he hadn’t had one in quite a while. Not since her. And even the thought of her as a mistress… it caused his blood to race yet spike with a dangerous pitch. It raced for the knowledge what would take place if she were his mistress, and it spiked in thinking that she’d be nothing more.

Mistresses were ignored when their… service wasn’t necessary.

Mistresses were paid company.

Mistresses were never married. Ever.

And Charles would fight the devil himself if another gentleman ever thought of bringing her under his protection. Which inevitably happened with mistresses. A man grew bored with one, so he traded in for another, leaving the previous mistress to find a new protector.

To think of Carlotta in such a state, it made his blood run cold. And his fists ached to beat someone.

To bad right now the only person to blame was himself. He couldn’t rightly call himself out.

What a bloody mess.

“Charles?” Lady Southridge’s voice called to him.

Just for good measure, he thumped his head a few more times against the door. If he passed out then he wouldn’t have to speak with her… he could claim temporary memory loss and forget that the disaster that just happened with Carlotta didn’t even happen. Better yet, he could hit his head hard enough to actually cause memory loss and he’d be ignorant.

But alas, fate was never kind… at least to him.

“Charles?”

“Here. In hell. Come join me,” he responded as he backed away and pulled open his study door.

“What on earth are you doing? And what is that odd thumping noise?” Lady Southridge asked as she regarded him with some alarm.

“Me beating myself. Come, I’m feeling especially charitable and I’ll give you a stick so that you might join in the fun,” he muttered.

“What did you do now?” Lady Southridge shook her head and made herself comfortable on the settee.

The same settee where Carlotta sat.

“Charles… are you particularly fond of this piece of furniture? If it upsets you so, I will not…”

“No, no. Please sit.” He shook his head and trudged over to the chair near the fire.

“I met your Miss Carlotta.” Lady Southridge leaned forward, her eyes bright and… knowing.

“Delightful.” Charles tried to muster a proper response but he couldn’t find the strength.

“I must say, I expected more of a response. I’ll have to try harder. Perhaps you can help me. You see… I caught up with her as she was leaving this very hallway, her eyes suspiciously red rimmed.”

“You don’t say,” Charles replied dryly.

“Indeed. In fact…”

Charles stared into the fire, waiting for her to begin her inquisition.

“I do believe she was foxed!” Lady Southridge’s eyes were wide with conviction.

“Foxed?” Charles swung around to face her, his jaw dropping in shock. “Foxed you say?” he repeated again.

Such an outrageous thought needed repeating.

Rather, it probably shouldn’t have been repeated. Or stated in the first place.

“Foxed,” she said again, her head nodding in affirmation.

“She was not foxed.” Charles felt compelled to defend.

“How can you be sure? Why, you’d be shocked at how many servants—”

“I’m quite aware of what servants do when they feel no one is watching… my own valet has sampled my French brandy a time or two… but Car—Miss Carlotta wouldn’t. I’m sure of it.”

“But how can you be so sure?” Lady Southridge asked, her arms folded.

“Because… she just wouldn’t.” Charles huffed indignantly.

“And that is all the credibility you can give to the subject?” she asked.

“No. But that’s all I’m willing to share on the subject.” Charles stood and paced in front of the fire.

“I shall investigate myself.” Lady Southridge shrugged and stood as if to leave.

“You will do no such thing. You will not even mention that you thought so ill of her, let alone investigate her. You will leave her alone. Am I understood?” He spoke with a steel edge to his voice, one he couldn’t ever remember using on Lady Southridge.

“My, you are in knots over this girl… I had expected it of course but… hmm.” She paused and regarded him. “The only other explanation I can think of for her countenance was tears. But of course… you’d never make her cry… would you, Charles?” Lady Southridge didn’t move and her expression remained unaltered.


But Charles smelled the blood in the water.

His own blood.

And she was a circling shark that had just trapped its prey.

Pity the prey was him.